


Four-In-Hand

by halo_in_reverse



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, mentions of relationship with redacted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16900806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_in_reverse/pseuds/halo_in_reverse
Summary: A week ago.A month ago.A year ago, this was her job. But not tonight. Not anymore.





	Four-In-Hand

**Author's Note:**

> All thanks to Kel and Mer for the beta. Dedicated to the girls in the GC: if your ship has to get norovirus, there are no finer humans to suffer through it with.
> 
> As always, this is a complete work of fiction. If you are the subject of this story I'm pretty sure you've got bigger concerns at the moment but please accept my most sincere apologies anyway. May God have mercy on my soul.

Her mom is halfway into a question about seating for the next day’s Walk of Fame gala when Tessa hears his unmistakable knock on the door. She’s heard it for the last 21 years, from his shy, tentative knocking on the front door of her childhood home, to desperate pounding at 3am against the heavy fire door of a five-star hotel in Tokyo. He’s the only person she’s ever known who can communicate full sentences with just the sound of bone against wood.

“Mom, can I call you back? Scott’s here.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, we’ve got plenty of time.” There’s a brief pause, and Tessa closes her eyes anticipating her next words. “Be kind to him, Tessa.”

“Mom. Please.”

“I know, I know. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” The call disconnects and Tessa swipes to some random playlist and sets the phone on the dresser while crossing the room to the door.

Swinging it open, he greets her with a sad, tired smile and steps past her into the room. He’s mostly dressed for the night, needing only a tie and his jacket and that’s where she comes in. Over the past couple years, they’ve fallen into yet another one of their silly little habits before galas and big events; he always comes to her so she can tie his tie. It’s something so meaningless on the surface but if she thinks about it too hard, she has to acknowledge how intimate a gesture it is, to be standing between his legs, or arms draped down his chest from behind, nimble fingers working the smooth fabric into something presentable. It’s always almost enough to make her throat tighten up.

He plops himself down on the edge of her bed and sighs, roughly dragging a hand through his hair.

“What’s going on?” she asks, trying to keep a light tone to her voice.

“Tess. Don’t act like your mentions haven’t been a shitshow for the last 20 hours.”

There’s really no way to get around this so she might as well tackle it straight on. “No, Scott, they haven’t been ideal, but there’s not much to be done about it now, is there?” There’s no malice behind it, but he winces a bit at the edge in her voice. Still, she steps between his knees and reaches for the tie in his hand.

It slips out of his fingers into hers and she immediately notices it’s not the silk she expected. “What happened to the Armani tie I told you to bring? It looks great with that shirt.”

He’s already popping up the collar and stops immediately. He clears his throat, and she knows he’s considering how to answer. And she braces for impact.

“Jacks thought I should wear this one instead. Looks a bit more casual, you know?”

The words hit harder than anything she could have prepared herself for. It’s almost enough to knock her back on her heels but she’s nothing if not a master of balance and control. She’s got a drawer full of medals to prove it.

A week ago.

A month ago.

A year ago, this was her job. But not tonight. Not anymore.

“Ah. I see.” She gently folds the tie back up and sets it on the bedspread. “I think it would probably be best for her to do this, then.”

Their eyes meet for a moment and she sees something close to anger spark through his. She can’t remember the last time she saw that directed at her and she feels something deep in her chest crack and bloom. His voice is low and tight when he speaks. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

“I’m not doing anything. Go find your girlfriend, Scott. I’m sure she’s looking for you.”

His hands fly up to grabs her by the hips to keep her in front of him, and if he was anybody else, she’d flinch at the contact and step back. But this is him, so she stays.

“What was I supposed to do, keep her hidden forever? Tell her to stay home? That’s not fair to her or me. Just because you don’t want to be in a relationship, that doesn’t mean I can’t be.”

She takes a deep breath, uses every technique she’s ever had drilled into her head to keep her voice steady and stop the tears from coming to her eyes that would ruin her makeup. “When we got home last summer, and had more than five minutes to breathe, I told you how I felt. And at no point did I tell you what you could do, only what I _couldn’t_ do. And this, right here, is at the top of the list.”

“Tessa, no. It’s not…”

“Tessa, yes,” she replies, before continuing. “You only had to hang on for another seven days. One week and you’d be free and clear of press days and media junkets and public appearances and _me_ but you just couldn’t ride it out. The toothpaste is out of the tube, Scott. You can’t put that shit back in.”

She watches his eyes as the words sink in and the moment they skitter away, she feels the grip on her hips loosen.

“I fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“A little bit, kiddo. Yeah.” She knows what’s coming next and before he can crawl completely into himself and hide behind that big, dumb, beautiful open heart of his, she reaches up and folds down his collar. “But I did too.”

His eyes finally flick black to hers, the start of a question on his lips when the soft music from the phone cuts out and the staccato beat of an alarm clock fills the room. She smooths her hands against the fine cotton covering the thick muscles of his shoulders and down his arms, biceps nearly straining against fabric, until she reaches his hands. After a quick squeeze of his fingers, she picks the tie up off the bed and drapes it loosely around his neck.

“The car will be here in twenty minutes; go finish getting ready.”

With that she steps away from between his legs, taps the phone to kill the alarm and makes her way to the en suite for final touch-ups to her makeup.

Through the throbbing rush of blood in her ears, she almost misses the sound of his dress shoes coming up behind her on the cold marble floors of the washroom but she has enough warning to grab the edge of the sink and brace herself for the inevitable soft kiss that lands at the top of her spine. Head bowed, she hears him shuffle out of the room, and let himself out the door with a soft click.

Maybe next week.

Maybe next month.

Maybe next year she’ll be the one to gently tease him about his complete inability to tie a basic Windsor knot after all these years but for now, she’s abdicated that responsibility to a girl he knew for a minute a lifetime ago. And she’s not ok with it. But she will be. She has to be. She always is in the end.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.


End file.
